That very change added much to his misery, because it robbed him of the comfort of pitying himself.  He could do nothing now but pity his mother.  As he saw it now, the crime of lying to her about that Sunday’s frolic loomed blacker than the passive part he had played in the tragedy of the night.  He had lied to her and thought it a joke.  He had taken a car worth more than five thousand dollars—­more than his young hide was worth, he told himself now—­and he had driven it recklessly in the pursuit of fun that nauseated him now just to remember.  Summing up that last display of ingratitude toward the mother who made his selfish life soft and easy, Jack decided that he had given her a pretty raw deal all his life, and the rawest of all on the tenth of last May.

All the while he was coaxing his fire to burn in the little rock fireplace he had built near his bed; all the while, he was whittling off a slice of frozen bear meat and broiling it over the fire for his supper, Jack was steeped in self-condemnation and in pity of his mother.  More than was usual she haunted him that night.  Even when he crept shivering under the bearskin and blankets, and huddled there for warmth, her face was as clear before him as Marion’s.  Tears swelled his eyelids and slid down his cheeks.  And when he brushed away those tears others came—­since boyhood these were the first tears he had ever shed because of a poignant longing for his mother.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

HANK BROWN PROVES THAT HE CAN READ TRACKS

To begin with, Kate knew Mrs. Singleton Corey, just as well as a passably popular elocutionist may expect to know one of the recognized leaders of society and club life.  Kate had recited at open meetings of the clubs over which Mrs. Singleton Corey had presided with that smiling composure which was so invulnerable to those without the favored circle.  Kate had once talked with Mrs. Singleton Corey for at least five minutes, but she was not at all certain that she would be remembered the next time they met.  She would like very much to be remembered, because an elocutionist’s success depends so much upon the recognition which society gives to her personality and her talents.

Now, here was Jack Corey hiding in her very dooryard, one might say; and his mother absolutely distracted over him.  How could she make any claim to human sympathy for a mother’s sorrow if she withheld the message that would bring relief?  She was astonished that Marion had been so thoughtless as never once to think of the terrible distress of Mrs. Singleton Corey.  Of course, she had promised—­but surely that did not exclude the boy’s mother from the solace of knowing where he was!  That would be outrageous!  Very carefully she sounded Marion upon the subject, and found her unreasonable.